Dark Skies
by irislim
Summary: Lizzie catches the very first flight she can to be there for his family, but it's way too late to be there for the one who matters. A short modern AU, set four dreary years after Darcy's first profession of love.
1. Chapter 1

The rain crashes down, torrential, like every other cliché movie funeral weather. The winding, pattered road to the cemetery probably has her Uber driver cursing his luck, but she perseveres anyway - glaring out the window with hardened resolution. She's dressed like a widow - black from head to toe. She feels like a widow, so it's really just a form of self-expression.

"Which way, ma'am?" Rickie hollers from the wheel. Lizzie peeks at the blurry fork in the road in front of her hired vehicle. She racks her brain for the details from the press release.

_In Loving Memory of_

**William Darcy**

_Founder of Pemberley Hotels_

_Funeral to be held on_

_**April 10, 2019**_

_**3 in the afternoon**_

_**Everrest Memorial Park**_

_**Huffton, NY**_

And, somehow, she just _showed up_. Somehow, she's managed to cash in on all her accumulated leaves, buy the most posh and most black ensemble she could, and hop on a plane across the Atlantic.

And here she is.

And here he is - somewhere.

Lizzie exhales, deeply. The last time she's seen him in person - now, perhaps, for the very last time ever - he was blushing, embarrassed by her rejection of his surprise proposal. She was certain, then, that it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. An improvised proposal deserved an improvised rejection - right?

Now, thinking back, and having realized that all his company and very formal social media profiles show him as clearly single and unattached all these years, she's not so sure that proposal was given that lightly.

"Ma'am?" Rickie's getting impatient.

Lizzie shuffles, sitting just that bit taller in her dress and coat and now-silly fascinator.

She did want to look the part.

The Darcys aren't your everyday family next door.

And faced with a death this tragic - the occasion deserves every bit of solemnity she can offer.

She peers through the rivulets coursing down her window pane. She catches a glimpse of the huddle of black, overdressed people.

She gulps.

"That way."

The car obeys, a little too enthusiastically, and Lizzie is faced all over again with the dilemma of what exactly she would _do_ upon arrival. Whom did she even know apart from William himself? What ties to the family can she even claim apart from a passing acquaintance with Georgiana?

"Ma'am," Rickie reminds her when they've stopped for two minutes and she still hasn't gotten out.

Lizzie takes a deep breath, eyes still scanning the sea of black umbrellas and black coats. The people look somber.

It's probably right that they do.

"Thank you," she mutters to Rickie, who is all too happy to have his freckled face disappear from her life forever.

The rain hits her, hard, the moment she opens the door. She draws her purse close to her body, happy for once that she didn't over-splurge on something that would be effectively drenched within three days of her owning it.

She picks her way forward on the grass - pristine, despite the storm.

It pays to die rich - however tragically.

She approaches the party just as the minister, barely shielded by the umbrella his assistant holds, backs away from the center. He's done. She's managed to miss any formal remembrance of the dearly departed.

Lizzie sniffs, feeling the first true urge to cry again after she's first heard the news.

The headline didn't jump at her. No one except mega-celebrities and royalty get that kind of treatment. It was a small headline, to the side, easily ignored.

It was a wonder she clicked on it at all.

And three lines in, she shut down her computer, dashed to her bed, and sobbed herself to sleep.

It was never meant to be this way.

She didn't like him _then_, when all she knew was his arrogance and conceit. She didn't like him because of what he did to Charles and Jane. She didn't like him because he was always the one unimpressed with any articles she published.

Then, after the-most-vehemently-rejected-proposal-of-the-decade, they just - drifted apart.

But she still saw his touches in her life.

Charles and Jane got back together.

Pemberley Hotels began to raise their social change game.

Whenever she published something - anything - he actually _liked_ it and _shared _it.

By the time she realized she'd forgiven him - and really wanted a second chance with him - her bags had already been packed for London.

It's her first time back, now, four years later, for the worst reason ever.

"Lizzie!" A female voice exclaims.

She looks up to see Georgiana - beautifully and regally dressed in her hat and pearls and classy black lace - running towards her.

Three splashes later, and she's embracing the sister of the man she's fallen in love with - fallen in love with too little, too late - a man who is so magnanimous and kind and _good_ that he promotes her from across the ocean without ever asking anything back.

"I'm so sorry," Lizzie whispers.

"Thank you." Georgiana sniffs.

Lizzie closes her eyes and tightens her hug. What else could she really do or say?

"How did he - "

"It's okay. He's been suffering for so long now, you know?" Georgiana pulls back to wipe at her tears. It's quite helpful for her, and them, that she has a maid or assistant of sorts holding her umbrella. "He's in a better place now."

Lizzie chokes up, and it takes extra effort to nod just for a little. How did she not even know he's been sick?

"Elizabeth?"

Lizzie stiffens, absolutely certain she heard something she wasn't supposed to.

"Elizabeth, you - came."

She blinks furiously, trying hard to mentally chase away her hallucination.

"Will." Georgiana turns aside to talk to the tall man behind her. "Isn't it nice for her to come all this way?"

Lizzie stands dumbfounded, staring at a towering, sorrowful, handsome man whose coffin she was sure she'd flown 3000 miles to see.

"Wi - Will?" She barely makes it out.

"Lizzie," he replies, a hefty dose of relief and appreciation in his voice.

He moves forward for a hug. She opens her arms in a trance, letting him in. It's not a tight hug, but it almost lifts her off the ground a little.

"Thank you for coming," he gushes, when he lets go.

She nods, speechless.

"My father was - a man to be remembered." His voice is laden with emotion.

Lizzie lets loose a small, melancholy sigh.

"Yeah. I bet."

* * *

A/N: This is a unique three-part AU. I enjoyed writing it. I hope everyone will enjoy reading it too. I'll get back to posting the remaining chapters of BTWMIL next week. Thank you! :)


	2. Chapter 2

Her appearance - so ravishing despite the destructive rain - took him by surprise.

And, even now, hours later, with everyone warm and comfortable thanks to shelter and champagne and signature Pemberley Hotel hospitality - he can still barely believe his eyes.

"Here, have another one." He offers the flute to her. She's since removed her hat, gloves, and other trappings. Her coat hangs casually over the back of her chair. It's just Lizzie - beautiful and breathtaking in her now-minimal make-up and slimming black dress.

She smiles at him as he settles down on the chair beside hers. She's been quiet, maybe she's grown quiet, but there's still that same depth in her eyes, that same sense of quiet, deep waters running behind the portals to her soul.

He's spent the last four years of his life trying to be a better person - trying to be _the_ person she described back then, before she ditched everything in favor of a European adventure. He's tried to forget her and failed, tried to live up to her standards again and again.

Today, it all feels a little worth it.

"I - it's probably very vain of me to claim this," he broaches the topic gently, lest he spook her _again_. "But I'd like to think you came over - for me. And I would very much like to thank you - for me."

She blinks quietly at him. Then she sips her drink between her soft, smiling lips. "You have no idea."

He feels a little chastised and rights himself until he's facing the table. The waiters slip by quickly to fill the spaces of white linen with finger foods of every kind. Aunt Catherine never minces on big occasions.

"No, Will, I mean - " She chuckles awkwardly, like she's nervous, as she slips her hand over his wrist. "It was for you - of course it was."

He feels his heart racing faster by the second. He swallows, with nothing in his mouth.

He turns to her, exuding as much calm civility as he can muster. "Thank you - so much."

"No problem, at all," the words fall off her lips freely, as if she didn't even have to think twice.

He smiles, as widely as he can on an occasion this hard. She smiles back - beguiling, enchanting, everything.

"Will! Aunt Catherine insists that you take a photo with Richard." Georgiana flies over, a woman now - healed from the scars of her past. She rolls her eyes in obvious impatience.

Darcy smiles. He reaches his free hand over to give Lizzie's a soft clasp. "I'll be right back."

Neither woman say a word, so he slips away in peace.

When he does come back - after a photo led to two photos led to half a dozen more - Lizzie's alone again, and pensive.

"Is everything alright?" He takes his previous seat, content to have just two seats at this table. It helps to partly own the place.

Like earlier, she just blinks and smiles - a thousand secrets in her bottomless eyes.

"I have a confession," she says, unprompted.

"Okay."

"Actually, I have two."

He nods and waits her out, too unsure of where it's all going to commit to any more expressive responses.

"Number one," she starts. Her voice is ethereal - her accent touched by a slight British intonation. "I didn't realize, after all these years, shame on me - that you are William Darcy, _Jr_."

He doesn't get it right away. She's blushing, and she's so pretty, and he barely knows how to form a coherent word.

"I guess I've just never introduced myself that way. Most of my friends call me Will so I didn't - oh."

He meets her eyes, waits to see if his strange realization is true.

She's smiling at him, absorbing all the awkwardness for him, when she nods. She's grown up, and he's grown up. And they're all a little more able to live with their own silliness.

"Oh my goodness, Lizzie - "

"It's fine." She takes both his hands. She's laughing now.

Behind him, Darcy can already feel distant relatives perking up - discovering and wondering why their workaholic celibate nephew is enamored with a girl all of a sudden.

They don't know that this isn't all of a sudden.

"Lizzie, I had no idea."

"So when I said I flew over for you - "

"You thought I was in the coffin."

"Yes."

They both pause a little before the chuckles take over. It's all too ludicrous, too Shakespearean, even. The fact that she flew all over here, dressed like a doll, for _his _funeral is simultaneously the most hilarious and bewitching thing he's ever encountered.

"Lizzie, thank you."

"Oh, you don't have to thank me for being stupid."

"No, you're not." He pulls their clasped hands more tightly together and a little towards him. "I'm happy you're here. So happy."

Then it's all seriousness again, and her doe-eyed face resumes its former pensiveness.

"And for my second confession," she starts.

"Yes?"

"My promotion and transfer is effective in three months' time."

He doesn't hear it yet, but he already feels it. He already senses the tingles run from her elbows all the way to his.

"I'm moving back to New York."

He breathes in sharply, before relaxing into a genuine, long-awaited smile.

She smiles back - not too harshly for a funeral, but brightly nonetheless.

It's his turn to clear his throat. "May I see you then?"

"As long as you're alive, I don't see why not."

They share the soft chuckle, reverent and intimate and sweet.

"I have a confession to make too," he says, because it just _feels_ right to do this right now.

Her eyes are the ocean, and he's lost in them - a piece of happy, floating debris.

"I never really ever got over you."

* * *

_A/N: The story was supposed to be a one-shot, but this second chapter grew from it - as did the upcoming short third chapter. I know the premise is strange, but I hope the emotions made up for it. Thanks for reading!_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Ten Months Later**_

* * *

What possessed William Darcy to take her to the park in _this weather_ is beyond her, but she figures the Darcys are so wealthy they can just control the weather into whatever they want.

She slides off her Uber ride more comfortably now, fully reacquainted with the updated ins and outs of her tri-state home.

She's dressed nicely, in the dead of winter, just because her boyfriend wants an outdoor date for Valentine's Day.

It's ridiculous, and it's lovely.

It's just like what she's come to see in him.

"A rose for the lady," the muffled old lady offered from her basket.

Lizzie lifts a brow, wondering if it's another one of Will's surprises.

She takes it anyway, and the woman refuses any payment.

It's Will alright.

Lizzie laughs and wanders a few more steps ahead, inching towards the frigid view of the Hudson River.

"A rose for the lady." Another vendor appears – this time, a slender, dark-skinned young man.

Lizzie smiles and takes it. She's gotten used to Will's whims.

But then soon, there's another rose, and another – and another eight more until she finds herself standing in the middle of the hotel garden, surrounded by flowers and string music and pretty birds in pretty cages.

It's like a winter wonderland – of a distinctly romantic kind.

And then he's there, in front of her, down on one knee with a glimmer in his eyes and another one in his hands. She wanders over slowly, savoring the overt yet regal romance of it all.

"I know this is fast," he says when she reaches him. "I know you may not be ready, but _I _am – and I'm too selfish to not at least risk this, just one more time. The last time I proposed, it was after a heady dose of alcohol, after another self-loathing session in which I tried to argue myself out of saying anything.

"Thinking back now, I'm glad I did – so you had the chance to tell me exactly what kind of man I was and exactly what kind of man I needed to be if I want _any _chance whatsoever of being where I am now."

He takes a deep breath. She does too. The tears in her eyes are pooling faster and faster.

"Lizzie, I love you – and if those four years, and then those three months apart were anything to go by, I know I will _never_ want to live my life without you in it. The skies may change, the earth may fail, but we'll still face it all, together.

"Let me be your other half – your partner, your lover, your friend. Let me make a home with you and protect it, for me and for you and for any children we ever want to have."

She blinks and another fresh batch of tears rushes to replace the one she's just let loose. She knows her answer. She's known it since that stormy day in April.

"Let me be the one to welcome the future with you. Let's be the ones to have Bethanne, and Tommy, and Will. Lizzie, will you mar - "

And _that's _when she winces.

"Ew, no."

His eyes drop wide. The music stops. The birds chirp away thanks to their distinct lack of human perception.

She looks around, a little shocked.

She doesn't recall doing anything wrong.

Then the horror on her boyfriend's face sinks in.

"Will!" She runs forward, kneels down, and hugs him. "No, I do _not_ want to name any children we ever have William Darcy. I will _not_ have another girl break her heart over a misunderstood death. But, yes, William - yes, of course I will marry you!"

She pulls back, feeling sheepish, and pulls him in for a kiss.

She feels his hands fumbling behind her until they get a comfortable grip without dropping the ring box.

He kisses her slowly, then purposefully, then passionately – just like she did when he drove her back to her hotel after his father's funeral.

Who knew it would all feel so far away now?

"Yes, Will, yes," she repeats when they finally stop kissing.

He looks at her with _that_ look – the one that says he is exasperated and indulgent and in love with her all at the same time.

He slips the sparkling paved solitaire on her finger, and she doesn't have the chance to complain about the extravagance before he kisses her again.

This time, the music resumes for good.

The day isn't complete, of course, without a visit to the cemetery – without a chance to put a wreath on the place that rekindled their unlikely re-romance.

Unless there never was a re-romance, just one romance that managed to take the long way round.

Slipping into the front seat of Will's car thirty minutes later, she crosses her fingers for a sunny wedding day.

* * *

_A/N: I know it's short. It was always meant to be short. My personal favorite in this story is Chapter Two, but I just couldn't resist giving them an outdoor proposal sort of happy ending. The line in this chapter saying "It's ridiculous, and it's lovely" really is all I can hope for about this unlikely story. I hope it's a nice little ending! Thank you to absolutely everyone who has been encouraging me about this story and all my writing in general :)_


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